


All He Ever Wanted (Rewrite)

by Xx_Astrid_xX



Series: Mine Enemy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lemon, Lime, M/M, One Night Stands, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Rewrite, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xx_Astrid_xX/pseuds/Xx_Astrid_xX
Summary: Draco Malfoy has all but exiled himself because of guilt and self-hatred. Harry Potter is lonely and desperate for love. After a decade of living separate, miserable lives, they're reunited... But will it last longer than one steamy night? Sorry for the cringe description.





	1. His Only Rival

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All He Ever Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877716) by [Xx_Astrid_xX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xx_Astrid_xX/pseuds/Xx_Astrid_xX). 



Draco Malfoy took one last drag from his cigarette before letting it drop to the ground and grinding it with his too-expensive dress shoes.  
"You know," he murmured to no one but himself, examining his snobby appearance in the plastic reflection of the bus stop.”I still look like a rich kid,"  
"-that Draco Malfoy?" an oddly familiar voice asked from behind him, one that Draco couldn't quite place, until he turned and grew neon in the lightless evening.  
It was Harry Potter, whose gaze briefly met Draco’s for a single, electric moment, and Ron Weasley, frowning deeply at Draco with his arm around Granger. Draco briefly recalled news of their marriage a few years ago.  
Draco quickly looked away, sighing and lighting another cigarette. He'd fallen too far from grace to care if they had an opinion on him, here in this poor muggle town, taking a bus home.  
They walked past him, Ron eyeing him, and sat inside the actual bus stop. Unfortunately, the bus wasn't scheduled for another half hour, and Draco's feet soon began to ache. He smoked the cigarette in silence before discarding it.  
The rustling of a plastic bag caught Draco’s attention and he turned to see Harry pulling out a small box of chicken nuggets, which he promptly began to eat.  
"Stuff isn't good for you," Draco found himself saying. Harry, who sat on the other side of the booth- thing that Draco knew not the proper name of, glanced up.  
"I don't eat it often," Harry said, and through his peripherals Draco saw the green eyed boy- or, rather, man- watching him. He turned to look at the trio.  
Hermione was closest to him. Her hair, once a deep chocolate, looked a bit lighter, a bit greyer. Her face was fast aging for a twenty seven year old, though she looked at oldest mid thirties and seemed quite happy. She wore a light pink sweater in the early fall chill, with a blue shirt peeking above it. Blue jeans too short on the legs showed older socks and newer sneakers. Her fingers were painted a nice autumny orange, and had what seemed to be a semi-expensive manicure. Her hair, while still frizzy, was done up. She looked like a middle class mom, and Draco supposed that she probably was.  
Ron was in the middle, his red hair short, a small amount of facial hair making him seem somewhat more attractive. He wore just a blue polo and long, durable looking jeans, and manly boots. He, too, looked happy, and time had seemingly done him well. There were crows feet by his eyes, and somehow, he looked very fatherly to Draco. An expensive watch sat on his freckled wrist, and Draco could imagine Hermione with two or three little ones, picking out a nice new watch for Daddy's birthday. He kept his smile in his own mind.  
And, finally, Harry Potter. His hair a bit shorter, a bit more tame, sitting in a more tired, less offensive way. His glasses were the same, though to Draco's relief, held not the tape they once had. His face had changed, becoming rounder. The shadow of an unshaved beard dressed his cheeks, and his nose looked like it'd been broken once or twice more in the years since Draco had last seen him. His face was softer, more gentle, like he did not, any longer, carry the stress he once had, and Draco found himself hoping that that was true. He wore a simple black t-shirt, too large for him as he'd always worn, under a familiar dark blue jacket with an even darker blue stripe around the waist, and he, too, wore jeans. Simple black sneakers adorned his feet. Had he not known it to be true, Draco would've never guessed that this boy was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the richest wizard from the world Draco could barely manage to stay a part of.  
Draco didn't let his eyes linger on the man any longer, for he feared to realize he still had those strong, terrifying feelings for him. He didn't know, on a conscious level, that this was the reason his eyes refused to stay locked with Harry's, and he didn't particularly want to know why his stomach was twisting and revolting in his abdomen. He hadn't eaten in, what, a day? He busied himself with lighting yet another cigarette while reminiscing on the days in which mother would make him the best home cooked meals, whatever he fancied having that day. He, once again, found himself missing his parents, missing the Manor, missing his old life. But he'd made a resolution. This was his self-sentenced punishment for what he'd done and what he simply couldn’t be. He closed his eyes and simply remembered his loved ones.  
"That's not particularly good for you, either," Harry spoke up, motioning to his almost burned-out cigarette, and bringing Draco out of his thoughts. Draco got a small, amused grin; only, amusement wasn't the proper word. Self-deprecation? Resolve? Pain? Yes, those worked.  
"Don't you know that you have a lot more to live for than me, Potter?" He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but he laughed it off, grinding his cigarette into the pavement.  
"Why do you say that?"  
Draco laughed again, this one truly being amused. His head rose up from it's usual spot- down- and he laughed, closed-eyed, to the colorless sky. Then, however, his head dropped slowly, the smile fading into a shadow of pain.  
"I wonder," he whispered softly.  
Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was staring out in front of him, face an odd expression of someone who clearly didn't know how to react. Hermione was staring at Malfoy with wide eyes, full of what some people would call sympathy, what Draco took as pity. He looked away before he could sneer. Him, Draco Malfoy, being pitied by a mudblood. In another life, he would've laughed, but here and now, he didn't have the energy.  
It was silent between them as Draco smoked his final cigarette before the bus pulled up. Draco boarded first, but struggled to find enough Muggle money.  
After he’d finally paid the driver, Draco sat in the front. He would've preferred the back; however, as he was searching for some muggle money, the trio had paid for their seats and Harry had led them to the back of the nearly empty bus.  
Draco found a cozy spot in between them and the snoring old man two rows from the front. His seat was worn and scratchy, and for a moment he wished he'd just slept at Blaise's; however, Astoria- Draco's ex and Blaise's fiancee- had come home. Draco didn't particularly enjoy her company much anymore.  
It was probably forty five minutes of staring emotionlessly out the window, smoking, until Draco was nearly home. He got out quickly, pulling his suit jacket closed, and walked so quickly and thoughtlessly that he failed to notice someone following him.  
He slipped into his apartment building, and up the steps towards the shittiest flat within flying distance of London. There were exactly two rooms; one room, maybe three meters by three meters, which served as a kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom, and a meter by meter bathroom. He owned only a bed, a pillow, and a blanket, and had been more than thankful when the flat had come with all necessary appliances; an oven, sink, microwave, fridge and a shower and toilet.  
"Draco," he heard as he fumbled with the key to his flat, and he startled, dropping the key and letting out a string of curses. Before he could process what had happened, other than him dropping his keys, Harry's black hair dropped into his vision, and after a moment, Harry was but a handful of centimeters away, holding Draco's keys with an awkward smile.  
"Potter?" Draco asked, voice full of mixed emotion, looking down probably the same distance as Harry was away from him. How long ago it was that Draco was a tad shorter than Harry.  
"You can call me Harry, you know," He said.  
Harry. It was so recent, to Draco, that Harry was calling him Malfoy and hating Draco's very guts, just as Draco had pretended to do to him.  
And suddenly all those stray thoughts, those late night longings, those painful itching needs that plagued him still grabbed hold of him, and Draco took a step closer to Harry.  
"Potter-" Draco gasped needily and almost angrily, as Harry leaned back, obviously uncomfortable with the current situation.  
And with that, Draco lost every ounce of courage he had just had. He stepped back, eyes closed, until he heard Harry unlocking the flat for him.  
"May I come in?" Harry asked as Draco walked into his tiny flat.  
"If you must," muttered Draco, examining the black carpet, grey walls, white cabinets and the clothes folded on the floor.  
"How's Ginny?" asked Draco just to distract from his shitty cheerio sized apartment.  
"Oh. We... We're not-" Harry looked away, turning his body slightly. "We're divorcing. She- she got the kids."  
Draco looked quickly at Harry, pondering this.  
"What are they like?" Draco managed after but a moment. "The children."  
Harry laughed softly, sitting on the bed without permission. "Well, James is the oldest, he's five. He's very- bold. Silly. Bossy. He loves Quidditch. Albus, he's only three, but he's very smart. Lily, she's two, and she's very girly and quiet and easy to handle." Harry looked up at Draco. "What about you? Do you have..." Harry just glanced around the flat, suddenly pink in the cheeks. Annoyance rushed through Draco for a moment.  
"Yeah. Scorpius. He's, uh, three now. He lives with my mother and father" Draco smiled softly, thinking of the young boy. "He looks like me."  
Harry looked up at Draco, smiling slowly. It seemed as if both of them were searching for something to say, but neither of them really found anything, not for a while.  
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Draco finally managed. His hosting skills were atrocious.  
"I could do with some water, if you would," Harry said, watching as Draco got two glasses from the cupboard and poured Harry some tap water, himself some scotch.  
"Rough day?" Harry asked, sipping from the thick, short glass he'd received.  
"Rough decade," laughed the host into his own glass before downing half of it, not taking notice to the taste or the sting.  
"What happened to you, Malfoy?" Harry asked suddenly, and Draco let loose a dry, humorless, bitter laugh.  
"I don't know, Potter." Draco smiled at the floor beneath Harry's feet. "I wish I knew."  
Harry shifted uncomfortably before pulling Draco by the shirt sleeve, only a tentative tug. Draco blinked, downed the rest of his alcohol, and sat next to Harry.  
"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry whispered, voice cracking.  
Once again, Draco found himself laughing. "What ever for, Potter?" Suddenly, the bitterness from his Hogwarts years overloaded him, and when he managed to subside it, the look on Harry's face spoke enough.  
"For that," Harry’s voice was gentle, but then, he gave a quiet laugh. "I hated you, too."  
"I never hated you, Potter. Despised you? Maybe. Envied you? Wanted- well, I don't know what I wanted, but I never hated you."  
Potter looked up as soon as Malfoy said 'wanted'. "You envied me?" He questioned.  
"You were perfect. The Chosen One, the Quidditch star, the good boy everyone loved. How could someone- especially someone like how I was- not be jealous of that?"  
"How you were?" Harry looked confused, sad, and some other thing Draco was too tired to place.  
"I've grown up, if only a slight bit." Draco was contemplating politely asking Harry to leave, so that he could sleep, when he felt a hand on his arm. He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it to the clothes basket.  
"You seem much more grown up," Harry said, a bit of humor in his voice as he appraised Draco. Dimly, Draco pictured himself and imagined what Harry would be seeing.  
His hair was shorter, once again slicked out of his face, and his eyes were the same old dull grey orbs, reminiscent of the smoke that came from his cigarettes. His face was older, harsher, and more manly, and by now a light, colorless shadow would be forming on his cheeks. He was taller, though still quite thin, and despite the pain and maturity that now poisoned his face, Draco imagined Harry still saw the same old Malfoy he once had.  
"Is that a compliment?" Draco asked, looking at Harry. Sitting down, they were about the same height. A brilliant smile overcame Harry's face, and Draco was struck with the same awkwardness that Harry had carried all through Hogwarts. The Boy Who Lived hadn't changed any.  
"If you'd like it to be one," Harry said. Draco got a small smile and found his eyes wandering away from Harry once more. He'd developed an issue with eye contact, and bitterly he rubbed the Mark, the one ignorant muggles constantly complimented, when they saw it. How vile they were.  
"I think I would," Draco said, voice barely audible. Harry's smile fell.  
"Draco..."  
"Don't.”  
"Don't what?"  
"Just, don't."  
Harry looked at Draco, almost desperate, before a familiar look, albeit one he’d never seen on his once-enemy, crossed Harry's face, one that the blonde didn't have time to process before soft, cool lips found his own. Draco sucked in air through his nose, eyes squeezing shut, as the raven haired man continued to kiss him, wet lips closing around Draco's unresponsive ones, Harry's hands moving to Draco's cheek, Draco's hair. Harry began to pull away, which awakened Draco’s brain. It screamed at him to kiss back, damnit. After all, this was all he'd ever wanted; his only rival.  
Finally, Draco kissed him back. He wrapped his arms around Harry, one around his waist, one on his upper back, bent up into his hair. Their tongues were like waves on a shore, their mouths moving in a way Draco hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.  
They drank from each other, sloppily, desperately, needily. Draco somehow ended up lying beneath Harry, who moaned and groaned and gasped and whimpered. Draco stroked Harry’s back sensually, making him shiver, pushing his shirt up to his shoulders to reveal the smooth chest beneath. Harry clutched onto Draco’s hips, grinding his nails desperately into the taller man’s flesh, much to Draco’s pleasure. He growled into Harry’s mouth  
He soon found himself mentally protesting when Harry rolled off of Draco, only to pull the latter with him, and the Gryffindor wrapped his legs around the same waist he continued to claw.  
“How far can I go,” grumbled Draco a bit later, after he’d begun to throb against his pants. His voice was alien to himself; deep, guttural, needy.  
“All the way,” breathed Harry, eyes drunk with need. They were fluttering, and his hips were writhing gently under Draco. His chest expanded and deflated at an alarming rate, and his mouth was still half open. Draco got a small smile, straight from the heart, the kind where his eyes scrunched up and his heart tickled. He gently pulled off Harry’s glasses before pulling off his own shirt. Thin muscles, barely there, dressed his thin figure like knotted sinew under his skin. He gently pulled off Harry’s polo, laughing as it caught on his ear, and feeling his stomach flutter as Harry laughed, too. Harry- sheepishly- took hold of Draco’s belt and began to undo it.  
“I’ve never- done- anything… With a guy.” Harry breathed, face covered in anticipation and nervousness.  
“It’s okay,” said Draco as Harry pushed his slacks down. Draco moved to the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, his socks, and his slacks, so he was left in only his pants, a deep navy blue, with a certain extremity fighting to be free. Then, he turned to see Harry in his underwear. They were bright red- almost pink, and Draco got a small smile.  
“I have,” Draco admitted, carefully avoiding eye contact as he kneeled before Harry, who was on his back.  
Draco put his hands softly on Harry’s knees, before stroking up Harry’s legs, feeling the hair brushing his hand in an odd way he’d never felt before, then whisked over his box, almost teasingly, and brushed over his hairless tummy, and over his gentle, skin colored nipples, to put his arms in between Harry’s body and his arms.  
Harry’s chest had a bit of fuzz on it, his build on the thinner side of average, his skin on the tanner side of peach. Draco smiled, kissing Harry’s collarbone, as Harry’s hands found Draco’s hair and buried his fingers in it, finally destroying it. Draco kissed up Harry’s neck, to his mouth, and drank from him more until Harry was a rock against Draco’s lower abdomen, and once again a moaning, whimpering mess, then trailed down to his chest, paying just a bit of tongueless attention to his nipples. He watched as Harry’s brow twisted, eyes closing, breathing sharply through his mouth, moaning and a bit unsure of whether or not he liked it. Draco continued to trail down, kissing sensually, but without tongue. Slowly, as he trailed from Harry’s diaphragm down, he slipped off Harry’s pants, kissing him there, too, until a slow stream of precum trickled into his mouth. He swallowed, looking up at Harry as Harry breathed deeply, looking at Draco with a thick, needy desperation.

Draco let spit trail from his mouth to his partner’s extremity. He stroked it, listening to Harry’s deep, gentle, sheepish moans. Harry tentatively motioned Draco up and took hold of Draco’s long, slightly thick member, uncircumcised, and smiled anxiously.  
Draco spread Harry’s legs wider. Harry was red in the face, so Draco leaned forward and slowly kissed him, placing himself above Harry once more. He spit on his hand, then gently massaged Harry, getting him ready for Draco. The men kissed slowly, softly, intimately, gently moaning into one another's mouths.  
“Just tell me…” Draco said as his tip went into Harry, trying very hard not to slam in right away. “... If I need to stop.” After Harry’s entrance stopped squeezing Draco, he gently pushed in all the way, to ready Harry before actually thrusting him. Harry clung to Draco, gorgeous face tense with anticipation. Draco carefully kept control of himself, pleasure dancing through him.  
“I’m ready,” whispered Harry a few minutes later. Draco began.  
At first, it was nothing more than mindless sex. But Harry started to whimper again, pressing into him and doing- things- to Draco that the latter couldn’t even comprehend. Soon, Draco lost himself, incapable of coherent thought as he took the man he’d dreamed of before he fully understood what it was to dream of someone. Harry cried out often, soon beginning to twitch beneath Draco, a hand sliding back to grip his hair, holding him close. Draco pleased Harry with one hand, the other twisting at Harry’s nipples. The Gryffindor’s mouth found Malfoy’s, and with how overwhelmed the taller boy was, he simply followed Harry’s lead.  
They finished together, something neither of them had done for a great while, and collapsed together, Draco scooting over so that he only half covered Harry, holding him tightly. He wedged part of his large blanket under them, to cover their mess, and enveloped them with the rest. Harry twisted slightly under Draco, and there they slept until long past the time both of them should’ve woken.


	2. Could Have Been

Harry Potter slowly awoke to feel a lot colder than he was comfortable with. He gently groaned under his breath, twisting gently to realize his bed had gotten very uncomfortable, his sheets far more itchy. He yawned and slowly blinked multiple times over the next three minutes, eyes adjusting to the too-intense light very slowly.  
Eventually, however, he realized he was not in bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and blinked some more. He saw nothing but varying shades of grey, as he was practically useless without his glasses, but he could hear the gentle sound of sizzling and his brain eventually recognized the scent of scrambled eggs.  
Then, he remembered his night with Draco. His cheeks burned bright as he shifted, naked against the stiff sheets, but then he cursed as he remembered Ron and Hermione.  
“Everything alright?” Draco asked as Harry started feeling around for his glasses.  
“I- yes, I- I have to go.” Harry bumbled. There was a pause in Draco.  
“Oh. Alright,” he sounded almost disappointed, and Harry almost felt sorry, but all he could hear was a terrified Hermione as she scolded him and cried, all he could see was Ron’s angry and confused, silent face. He found his glasses and put them on his nose. Draco looked delicious in front of the stove. He wore only a pair of dark grey boxers and white socks, blond hair falling in his handsome face, chin covered in stubble, grey eyes soft. He was propped casually against the old, grey-stained cabinets. Harry pushed the blanket off to reveal his body, and blushed gently, pulling his clothes back on hurriedly. Draco watched silently, much to Harry’s simultaneous embarrassment and glee. He stood then, glancing at Draco, and gave him a cheeky smile. Draco’s mouth curved slightly to the side, eyes shimmering at Harry in a dark, seductive way, and the absolutely debonair atmosphere that resonated from the Slytherin was enough to urge Harry to move into him and press his lips into Draco’s, who gladly responded for a single long moment. Then, however, Harry moved to the door.  
“I’ll write you,” Draco assured gently. Harry looked back and smiled.  
“I’ll look forward to it,” he replied. Draco nodded, eyes shifting to Harry’s shoulder.  
“Send the Weasleys my regards,” Draco whispered, much to Harry’s surprise.  
“I… I will,” Harry said, before leaving.”  
It was a day later when the first of Draco’s letters arrived.  
Harry,  
I feel rather odd as I write this. I hope you know I very much enjoyed our… Rendezvous, the other night. Are you free sometime this week? There’s a lovely play in town the Muggles are putting on. Perhaps we could attend. I could make dinner afterwards.  
Draco  
Harry smiled as he read it, tracing the too-neat cursive with his finger. He sat down at the table, the owl waiting beside him as he wrote and rewrote the letter for what seemed like hours, growing ever more frustrated and ever more embarrassed. Eventually, without Harry noticing, the owl left, and not long after, there was a knock at the door. Sighing, the man went to answer it, only to be greeted by another owl with instructions to arrive at the Ministry immediately, stating pressing matters as the only reason why.  
The next few days, Harry was consumed by a rather dangerous case, and hardly read the two letters Draco sent; one four days later, and another three days after that.  
Harry,  
It seems you haven’t had the chance to write back. The Muggle play has stopped early due to the lead actress injuring herself. The brainless thing managed to break her clavicle. Perhaps we could go to the cinema or walk around London instead…?  
Malfoy  
Potter,  
I’m sorry if these are excessive. I hope you know I’m not trying to pressure you into a repeat of what occured. I apologize if you’re simply busy… I know you’re an Auror, and you do have children and a life of your own…  
Wishing you well, Draco  
Harry sat down to write to Draco again, but this time, no words came out. It was late night and he was the last one in the office, as usual. He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to think. Ten minutes later, a janitor came in, and Harry rushed out, holding a handful of paperwork that needed to be done by the following day. He finished it at home and finally fell into bed two hours before he had to begin getting ready.  
For four more days, not another letter, and Harry felt increasingly sorry. Should he go to his flat? Write back? Wait until Draco sent another? What if he didn’t write another? What if it had already been too long?  
Then, another, as Harry sat at the breakfast table.  
Harry Potter,  
Did something happen to you? Did I do something wrong? Could you at least  
tell me why you refuse to write me back?  
Draco Malfoy  
Just as a disgruntled Harry went to look for parchment and a quill, the front door opened and in stumbled Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo, followed by Ginny, James, Albus, Lily, and Dean. Draco’s letter was forgotten once more.  
Ginny left the children for a few days, and between the three of them, Harry didn’t find time to reply to Draco. The four letters sat on his bedside, eating at his brain, but untouched. Another came on the day before Ginny came to retrieve the kids.  
Please, reply. I’m losing my mind… I miss you, Potter.  
Harry’s heart crumbled into pieces, holding it in his hands. What was even a suitable response? Lily began crying, and with a forlorn sigh, Harry gently folded the letter and pocketed it before going to check on his daughter.  
The evening after the children left, Harry sat down and began writing.  
Draco,  
I’m very sorry it took me so long. I’m very sorry this happened… I do hope you’ll be able to forgive me. You, what we’ve shared, mean the world to me. I hope you understand  
But Harry sighed and stopped, head falling into his arms. Of course he didn’t understand. Harry had been ignoring him. Full of anxiety, Harry reviewed in his head all of the possible outcomes… And none of them were both realistic and good. Much to his shame, he cried there, into the paper, smudging the ink. Then, he resigned himself to bed, to loneliness. Eventually, the letters ended up on his bedside table again, under his alarm clock, and every once in a while, Harry would read them and wonder, nervously, what could have been.


End file.
